Free Nocturnes: Five Stories of Music and Nightfall by Kazuo Ishiguro Page B

seeing her.”
    “What do you mean, kept seeing her?” I’d drifted back into the kitchen by this time and was gazing at my concoction.
    “Well, I kept seeing her,” he said. “I kept making appointments to see her.”
    “You mean, she’s a call girl.”
    “No, no, I told you, we’ve never had sex. No, she’s a dentist. I kept going back, kept making things up about a pain here, discomfort of the gums there. You know, I spun it out. And of course, in the end, Emily guessed.” For a second, Charlie seemed to be choking back a sob. Then the dam burst. “She found out … she found out … because I was flossing so much!” He was now half-shrieking. “She said, you
never, ever
floss your teeth that much!”
    “But that doesn’t make sense. If you look after your teeth more, you’ve less reason to go back to her …”
    “Who cares if it makes sense? I just wanted to please her!”
    “Look, Charlie, you didn’t go out with her, you didn’t have sex with her, what’s the issue?”
    “The issue is, I so wanted someone like that, someone who’d bring out this other me, the one that’s been trapped inside …”
    “Charlie, listen to me. Since the last time you called, I’ve pulled myself together considerably. And quite frankly, I think you should pull yourself together too. We can discuss all of this when you get back. But Emily will be here in an hour or so, and I’ve got to have everything ready. I’m on top of things here now, Charlie. I suppose you can tell that from my voice.”
    “Fucking fantastic! You’re on top of things. Great! Some fucking friend …”
    “Charlie, I think you’re upset because you don’t like your hotel. But you should pull yourself together. Get things in perspective. And take heart. I’m on top of things here. I’ll sort out the dog business, then I’ll play my part up to the hilt for you. Emily, I’ll say. Emily, just look at me, just look how pathetic I am. The truth is, most people are just as pathetic. But Charlie, he’s different. Charlie is in a different league.”
    “You can’t say that. That sounds completely unnatural.”
    “Of course I won’t put it literally like that, idiot. Look, just leave it to me. I’ve got the whole situation under control. So calm down. Now I’ve got to go.”
    I put the phone down and examined the pot. The liquid had now come to the boil and there was a lot of steam about, but as yet no real smell of any sort. I adjusted the flame until everything was bubbling nicely. It was around this point I was overcome by a craving for some fresh air, and since I hadn’t yet investigated their roof terrace, I opened the kitchen door and stepped out.
    It was surprisingly balmy for an English evening in early June. Only a little bite in the breeze told me I wasn’t back in Spain. The sky wasn’t fully dark yet, but was already filling with stars. Beyond the wall that marked the end of the terrace, I could see for miles around the windows and back yards of the neighbouring properties. A lot of the windows were lit, and the ones in the distance, if you narrowed your eyes, looked almost like an extension of the stars. This roof terrace wasn’t large, but there was definitely something romantic about it. You could imagine a couple, in the midst of busy city lives, coming out here on a warm evening and strolling around the potted shrubs, in each other’s arms, swapping stories about their day.
    I could have stayed out there a lot longer, but I was afraid of losing my momentum. I went back into the kitchen, and walking past the bubbling pot, paused at the threshold of the living room to survey my earlier work. The big mistake, it struck me, lay in my complete failure to consider the task from the perspective of a creature like Hendrix. The key, I now realised, was to immerse myself within Hendrix’s spirit and vision.
    Once I’d started on this tack, I saw not only the inadequacy of my previous efforts, but how hopeless most of